


Aftertaste

by ineffablenerd



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Asexual Character, Breakfast, Domestic, Drunken Kissing, Hangover, Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Night Stands, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablenerd/pseuds/ineffablenerd
Summary: Zolf wakes up with a horrible Headache and only vague memories of the night before. Who he finds in bed next to him might not surprise you
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 43
Kudos: 50





	1. Take Stock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illusemywords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusemywords/gifts).
  * Inspired by [it’s always easy (when you fake it)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538279) by [illusemywords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusemywords/pseuds/illusemywords). 



> This is basically a fanfiction of a fanfiction because this would not ever have happened without illusemywords' brilliant brilliant Band!AU which I have been thinking about nonstop since they first brought it up.  
> If you want more worldbuilding this is where you have to go. Mine is just an alternate timeline where that party went quite differently...

The splitting headache wakes him up. He normally doesn't get hangovers, but he also normally doesn't forget what happened either and he can't find the memories on how he got home.

They had a Gig. They had been celebrating. Celebrating months of work and their album and, of course, the Tour.

They're going on tour again! His little band of misfits. He still can't believe it. They worked so hard for this and now it's real.

So there had been dancing, and drinking. So much drinking.

He tries to form a picture of the night in his head. Hamid had busted out some proper moves. He talked to Barnes at some point maybe? They had been at one place, than another. Then at the first again but different. Or was that before?

No use. It's all scrambled up, and the headache is killing him. This is probably the worst hangover he's had in years.

At least he doesn't feel like he's going to throw up, but he hasn't opened his eyes yet so that's subject to change.

He does a quick mental check and he seems to be in his pants. Apparently he at least undressed at some point even though the dull pain at his knee lets him know he did _not_ take of his prosthetic. He shifts a bit to try and relieve at least some of the pressure from it and...

_There's someone next to him_.

A head of familiar brown curls is buried into the pillow beside him. Luckily still passed out.

Oscar Wilde is in his bed. In his bed, asleep after a night of lots of drinking that scrambled his memories a bit so he doesn't know how he got there.

Zolf dares to look again.

Wilde is still there, still asleep, and seems to not be wearing a shirt either. It's hard to tell anything more than that as he's buried under most of the duvet, which explains why Zolf is fucking freezing right now, but it doesn't explain how he got there. Or what happened.

Occam's Razor might say one thing but there's no way he hooked up with Oscar Wilde, his friend, his _manager_ , the biggest annoyance he's ever met, the man he's definitely not been pining for at all for way longer than strictly necessary. Definitely not. There's no way right?

He closes his eyes to stop the spinning in his head and tries harder to put his memories in the right order. But what he comes up with isn't very satisfying.

The Show

Hamid's lovely speech

Drinks

Dancing

Complaining about the DJ

Shots with Hamid and Sasha

Shots with Wilde

Complaining _to_ the DJ

Dancing with Wilde

_Now we're getting somewhere_. He thinks, but the images get spottier from there

Looking for Wilde after trying to find the bathroom for way too long

More shots?

Something about stairs

A Taxi. Did he call it? Did he pay for it?

A faint picture of hands in his hair and a mouth on his neck and the taste of a drink from someone else's lips creeps up in him but before he can untangle familiar dream from unfamiliar memory the spinning room catches up with his guts and he is sprinting to the bathroom, silently thanking whoever is listening that he _didn't_ take off his leg last night or this would have been even more of a mess than it is already.

* * *

A lot of cold water and a desperately needed tooth brush later the spinning is calming down and he's staring at himself in the mirror. There's no way Wilde is in his bed right now.

There's no way they... is there?

He scrubs his hand over his face.

_Focus._

But the tugging at his beard just brings up more dreams. Or memories. He's pretty sure they're memories at this point.

He can almost still feel the touch of long fingers raking through his beard, a mouth sucking bruises right under his...

His eyes snap back open and he turns his head to get a better look in the mirror.

Starting underneath his ear there's a curved line of messy hickeys right down his throat, ending in full on bite marks in the crook of his neck. More still are scattered over his chest, like someone had tried to colour in his tattoos with their mouth.

So the 'Wilde didn't make it home so he just crashed here' theory is out.

A muffled "Fuck" from the bedroom pulls him out of his thoughts.

He braces himself to face the consequences of his own actions. There's no way this is not going to be a disaster.

He tries to swallow his anxiety and slowly makes his way back to the bedroom. Somewhere, stashed somewhere incredibly convenient he can't remember right now, is his cane. But for now, he limps, trying not to make the soreness at his knee any worse.

All these thoughts leave him in an instant when he walks back through the door and his eyes land on his now awakened... _guest_.

Wilde looks like a picture out of a magazine. The blanket pools around his waist where he's sitting crosslegged on the bed and an honest to god beam of sunlight is shining right through the window and is highlighting where his hair is falling into his unshaven face and his palms are pressed into his eyes in an effort to rub out the hangover. This is so far removed from everything he's ever seen of him. Even during their first tour Zolf had never seen him so unkempt and far from his polished facade. He has never seen him so beautiful.

His breath catches in his throat and the half-baked speech about mistakes and professional relationships and alcohol and the questions of _did we?_ fold in on themselves and come out as a choked cough.

Wilde turns his head and winces with what Zolf assumes a similar headache to his. Wilde's eyes widen a bit in surprise? Disgust? Concern? Zolf has never felt more exposed in his life. He's painfully aware that he's just in his pants, weight awkwardly shifted to one side to not put more pressure on his bad leg, a complete mess.

He looks everywhere but on his bed, mapping where his T-shirt was flung across the room, his Jeans lay crumpled on the floor, where Wilde's clothes are in one pile right at the footend of the bed, like he had stood there while someone else on the bed might have taken them off...

He swallows again, beating down the images he still can't place quite between reality and fantasy, and finally focuses on Wilde again, who's still sat there. Just looking at him with that strange look on his face.

"ummm... Coffee?"


	2. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Coffee and a very awkward conversation

He can't look at Wilde he just can't. When his eyes betray him and he glances over from where he's waiting for the coffee machine to do it's goddamn job, Wilde's there hugging one of his legs, balancing himself on the little corner bench and staring into the middle distance. He has grabbed one of Zolf's Bandshirts on the way out of the bedroom, not bothering with his own crumpled dress shirt on the floor. It's more of a wide croptop on him, leaving most of his collarbone exposed. There's a hickey right where the shirt starts and Zolf can't stop staring at it. He can't remember putting it there but his lips tingle with the taste of it anyways.

Before he can make himself stop staring, Wilde catches him out. He feels exposed again, even if he's wearing vaguely more than his pants now.

"so..." for once Wilde doesn't seem to have the words either.

"so..."

The coffee mashine hisses, giving them another moment before they have to adress the situation. Zolf stays silent as he fills his two biggest mugs and slides a jar of sugar across the table to Wilde.

"Black and Sweet right? Don't have any of your fancy sirups but you can have some vanilla extract if you want."

Wilde takes a second to answer, shoveling a couple of spoons of sugar into his drink.

"Just the sugar is fine thanks."

Silence falls again, only broken by the clinking of the spoon in Wilde's mug and the little huffs of trying to sip too hot coffee. It should be an awkward silence, and by all outside measures it is, but for one moment they're too busy with their hangovers to notice.

When Zolf sneaks another look at Wilde he's openly staring at him.

"What?" he blushes. So does Wilde.

"You have..." Zolf doesn't think he's ever heard Wilde lost for words before. "Your neck."

Zolf puts a hand over the hickeys. His calloused fingers almost hurt on the sensitive skin. He'd already pushed the fact of them away.

"Well... it was mutual apparently." he points to where Wilde's neck doesn't look that much better.

"Well thanks for that."

Silence falls again.

"How much do you remember?" Wilde asks finally.

"Bits and pieces." _don't know what's real and what I wish was true_ he doesn't say.

"Did We..." Zolf tries to ask.

"Do you..." Wilde starts his question at the same time.

"You first" Zolf doesn't actually want to know. He should _know_ if they did. Did more than bruise each other in this drunken mistake. Did more than he'd be comfortable with sober.

"Do you have a phone charger? Mine's dead." Wilde's face is unreadable.

"Sure." Zolf holds out his hand. "I'll just plug it in in the bedroom for a sec."

He comes back with his own phone in hand. It hasn't charged either but it's not quite dead yet.

There are multiple missed calls from everyone in the band, including Cel and Azu. And tons of messages.

He sits back down, reading and replying to the most urgent ones.

He hopes Sasha sees that one before she breaks in. Last thing they need is another face seeing them like this.

He has no clue what conversation Hamid might be referring to.

Well that was the second biggest mistake he made in the last 12 hours.

He puts the phone back down to see Wilde watching him, waiting for an update.

"Apparently we just vanished from the party. Everyone was worried. I just replied to calm them down a bit."

"Oh. did they not see us leave?" Wilde seems to remember the night much more clearly than him. Meaning he chose this. Zolf tries to suppress the glimmer of hope that licks up in him. This means nothing.

"They were looking for us seperately, so apparently not." Zolf really doesn't want to place the feeling of disappointment that comes with that.

"Oh. Ok. Good?"

It is good isn't it? It wasn't a good thing what happened. Not with the band on the line. Not with the thing with Bertie, with Wilde's history...

Zolf's phone buzzes. The buzzes again. Wilde looks at him expectantly.

"I just said 'we're fine' in the group chat." Better come clean now before Wilde reads it himself.

"You did _what_?" Wilde's nonchalance at the situation drops in an instant. Zolf immediately feels his defenses rise.

"I don't know! They were worried, I wanted them to know you were also ok!"

"And you had to frame it as _we_? Oh Gods, this is the worst possible scenario." Manager Wilde is in full power now. He reaches for his phone then remembers it isn't in his pocket.

_Worst possible scenario._ That hurts. Sure it was a mistake, but no one had to know. At least Wilde showed his feelings on this before Zolf made a fool of himself and assumed anything.

He swallows around the weight in his gut and tries to put on a similar demeanor to what Wilde had going on before.

"I'll just tell them you got me home and crashed on my couch. It's fine, no one's going to think you actually hooked up with me."

"Why wouldn't they?" Wilde snaps back.

Zolf scoffs. "Because they might still assume you have standards." It's a low blow but he can't help it.

He hammers back an answer in the Groupchat and shoves it in Wilde's face.

"See? It's fine."

"Are you?"

"Am I _what_?" Zolf is done with this conversation. Done with this day.

"Going to rehearsal later." Wilde's cold, business-like tone hurts more than anything.

Stupid rehearsal. Why did they set it for today? They knew they'd all be hungover. Grizzop said something about practice for the road. Sometimes he could kill that goblin with his bare hands. If he could catch him. Speaking of moving fast...

"If I can find my cane somewhere. Shouldn't put too much pressure on my leg for the rest of the day. I won't be able to do the bass drums but I can still hold a beat and I don't want to let anyone down."

"You sure? I can tell them you couldn't make it. You don't have to push yourself if your leg is giving you trouble."

Why the concerned voice now? When he has already put a line under this? Where was that concern last night when he pushed him backwards onto his bed, following quickly after, placing open mouthed kisses slowly up his...

Great _now_ the memories come back. Zolf can barely keep himself from blushing. His mouth is dry again.

He mumbles into his coffee.

"It'll be fine. That's what painkillers are for."

The silence is back.

"Do you... do you know how to cover these up?" Zolf doesn't have to look up to know what Wilde's referring to. Now that the images of the marks being placed there fill his head again.

"Figured I'd just wear a hoodie. Beard covers most of it, especially if I don't rebraid it." he tells his mug.

The silence stays stubbornly put as they stare onto their mugs.

"I should get going soon if I want to stop by at my place and be on time for rehearsal." Wilde pushes his empty mug from him. "thanks for the coffee." He sounds final.

"You're really going to go all the way across town then all the way back down to the rehearsal space?" it's just logistics Zolf tells himself. He's not hurt by Wilde wanting to leave so abruptly at all.

"I need to shower and new clothes. I can't show up there in walk of shame outfit #1. I'll just catch an uber."

For a second Zolf can imagine it. Them both showing up together, Wilde still wearing his T-Shirt. Hickeys on full display. Marks that say 'He's mine now.' in another life maybe. He suppresses the vision of it as fast as it bubbles up.

"Your phone's still dead though." Zolf feels the desperate edge in his voice and hopes it isn't audible. He's right but he shouldn't say it. Just let him leave. Give up on what could have been.

"Fuck. You're right." Wilde runs his hands over his face. He looks more tired now than he did 10 minutes ago.

"Just... take a shower here. We'll figure out the clothes. And there's time for something to eat before we have to leave." He tries not to savour the 'we'. He really does. He's allowed a bit of fantasy isn't he?

"Yeah, you're right. I just... I don't want this to become a whole thing. Not right before tour. We don't want..."

"..a repeat of the Bertie incident." Zolf finishes his sentence for him, trying not to let each word drive another nail in the coffin of his dreams. "Well I'm not Bertie. If you'd rather this never happened, it didn't. I drank too much, You brought me home and crashed on my couch to make sure I'd be fine in the morning. Just... dudes being bros or whatever the kids on Twitter say."

"The kids don't use Twitter anymore. They're on TikTok now." Wilde's smirk isn't full force yet, but it's a start.

"Just... take a shower Wilde. I'll see if I can find something with some kind of collar that doesn't leave you prone to a kidney infection."

"They're called Crop tops Zolf, and I rather think I suit them." Wilde's grin widens.

It's so easy to fall into their normal banter. Like nothing happened. _It's easier like this._ Zolf thinks to himself. Better have him as a friend than not have him at all. Just because he finally got a taste of what it would be like doesn't mean anything can change.

Wilde gets up and takes the empty mugs with him to the counter.

"Do you have a dishwasher?"

"Just leave them, I'll take care of it. Bathroom is down the hall on the right, towels are next to the sink just help yourself."


	3. Get your Bearings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get it together and just get through the day.

By the time Wilde finishes his shower Zolf has done his own quick wash in front of the kitchen sink, liberally applied deodorant, changed into Jeans and a hoodie, had a rummage through his closet for something to wear for Wilde, found his cane underneath a pile of laundry on the chair in his bedroom, took his leg off for a massage and some numbing cream,put it back on, took a painkiller and started some bacon, eggs and beans and another pot of coffee.

"I didn't think I needed a shower chair in my life but I think I don't ever want to live without one ever again." Wilde's voice moves through the hallway.

"If more people get them, the damn things might get cheaper." Zolf gruffs, turning around from the stove.

The view of Oscar fussing with his damp hair while only wearing a towel almost makes him drop the pan.

"So uhhh..." he clears his throat to try and smooth over the lump in it. "you'll have to wear your own trousers because there's no way you'll fit any of mine, but I can give you the flannel I was wearing earlier it's the only thing I have that's human length everything else is either dwarven or altered to fit me."

"You get your stuff altered?"

"Pff no, I just get a lot second hand and do it myself, it's not that hard." he flips the eggs with a practiced flick of the wrist. "Get them altered.. _pah._.. I'm not made of money."

Wilde looks at him with a strange look in his eyes.

"You're full of surprises aren't you." the bare earnest tone he says it in makes Zolf blush.

"Shut up and put some clothes on. Breakfast is ready."

* * *

The Flannel is way too big but it covers the marks on the base of Wilde's neck and collarbone that the T-Shirt leaves exposed. He decides to leave it unbuttoned. Showing a bit of midriff that Zolf has a hard time not staring at.

"If I button up a crumpled flannel that is already definitely not mine it'll just look more suspicious." He explains between bites of toast when Zolf raises an eyebrow at the ensemble.

"You have covered up some hookups in your life huh?" He quips, not entirely sure if he's keeping the jealousy entirely out of his tone.

Wilde pointedly doesn't answer and takes another bite.

"Thank you for the breakfast. You didn't have to do that."

"Would you have eaten anything today if I didn't make you?"

"At some point, yes. Probably."

"Don't lie to me Wilde." Zolf almost reaches out for Wilde's hand on the table before remembering that this isn't real. This isn't a domestic breakfast. This isn't his life, or his future and he better get used to it. Tour is going to be hell.

They finish their breakfast in what could may as well be comfortable silence.

When Zolf starts to do the dishes out of habit, Wilde stands next to him and takes the plates off his hands without as much as a word. Zolf's eyes sting with the loss of it, when their fingers brush over and over again . This isn't for him. He better not enjoy it even while it lasts because it might break him if he allows himself to imagine it for just a second.

When they're done, Zolf composes himself for a second before daring to look at Wilde again. The urge to pull him down by the open shirt and kiss him again, screw rehearsal, screw consequences, rises in him and he can only just tear himself away.

The view of the clock on the wall betrays the passage of time so they shuffle into the hallway.

"Ok, you got everything? Wallet, Phone, Keys?" Wilde ducks into the bedroom and comes back waving his phone.

"I can finish charging it at the studio. Can't find my coat though, and I'm pretty sure that's where my keys are."

"Must have left it at the club. I can help you go look for it later after rehearsal if you want?" Zolf offers before he can stop himself.

"That's very kind of you Zolf." Wilde says it with that strange look again. "I'll just call the club. I'm not the first person to ever leave their jacket behind and neither will I be the last."

Zolf could bite his tongue off. He needs to stop being so greedy. He pulls on his leather jacket from where it lay crumpled next to their shoes and for one second out of the corner of his eye it looks like Wilde is reaching for his hand. He almost takes it before realizing he's reaching for his shoes.

Before he can mourn it, the moment is over and they're out the door. The April sun makes a feeble attempt at warming them but Wilde still shivers without his coat.

"Oh for gods sake." Zolf shrugs his jacket back off. "Come down her for a sec." he reaches up and drapes it awkwardly over Wilde's shoulders, trying not to look him in the eyes while their faces are so close again. While he can smell his own soap on Wilde's neck.

"just uhhh... give it back before we enter the Studio. No one's gonna see."

The uber arrives before he has to deal with the awkward silence he has created. He can feel Wilde staring at him but he keeps his eyes trained on the streets of London passing by.


	4. Face the Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehearsal goes about as well as one would expect. Worse actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: This chapter contains mentions of Family Death, Car Accidents and a Panic Attack.  
> please take care of yourselves.

They're barely on time and Wilde almost rushes in with Zolf's jacket still on his shoulders. Zolf almost lets him before snatching it away.

No one comments on them showing up together, but Hamid definitely gives a look at Wilde's outfit before he glides away into his office to check the sales and social media resonance or whatever managers do the day after an album drops.

The others are already doing their warm-ups and tuning their instruments so Zolf makes his way to his drum set, leans his cane against the wall behind him and wiggles with the stool. He gives a few cursory steps on the bass drum and his knee aches but the numbing cream and pain killers are seemingly doing their jobs.

"You good to play boss?" Sasha comments from the side. Can't get anything past her.

"Yeah yeah. Just forgot to take the damn leg off last night so it's acting up a bit. And I'm still not your boss." He tries for a grin but it doesn't feel quite convincing

"Wilde did a shit job then."

"hmm?"

"You said he took you home right? If you're this fucked up he didn't do a very good job taking care of you."

"Well," Zolf can't help but blush and he curses his blood for betraying him. "He wasn't very sober himself. Why do you think he crashed with me."

"I guess." Sasha doesn't seem convinced but she stops prodding.

"Everyone ready?" Hamid pipes up. He takes charge of the rehearsal, deciding on songs and giving notes. Zolf is not the only one with a hangover, but they soon find their easy rhythm and blast through the preliminal setlist making note on sudden mood changes, flow and adding and polishing bits and pieces.

Within an hour Zolf is sweating. The studio heats up fast and drumming is a full body work out. The hoodie sticks to him, restricting his arms and tugging at his hair. He shakes off the hood.

Between one song and the next he pulls it over his head and throws it into the corner next to his jacket. Next is the beard that keeps getting in the way. His fingers quickly transform it into the signature simple braid. He doesn't have an elastic but at least it's not smothering his throat anymore. He finally feels in his element again, and when they reach London/ Other London he almost loses himself in the drum solo that sort of started all of this.

Soon enough they take a break and Zolf grabs his cane and makes his way back to his stuff. It's one thing to be shirtless sitting down behind the drum set, be it practice or a show, but he isn't really the person to be confident enough to just have his gut out in front of people, especially not if he's the only one.

When he bends down to pick up his hoodie he hears Grizzop snickering from the side. He freezes, instantly remembering why he was wearing a hoodie in the first place. A shriek to the other side of him informs him that Hamid has also seen what he tried so hard to hide this morning. He curses himself for forgetting about it.

"You _lied_ to us!" Hamid's already high voice has almost gone supersonic.

Zolf rights himself, pulling the hoodie over his head with what he hopes looks like calm hands. When he's all safely covered up his eyes fall on the door where Wilde is stood, eyes wide, hand white knuckled, still on the handle like he just came in.

"I didn't _lie_. I just didn't think it was important to mention." Zolf lies.

"It's two weeks before tour!" Hamid switches between concerned, angry, confused, back to angry again faster than should be possible. "We can't have _this_! we can't have another _Bertie Incident_!"

"Hey now" Grizzop raises his hand to calm him down. It isn't working.

"I'm _not_ Bertie!" Zolf is done being reminded about this. Like he hasn't been blaming himself for this all day. "We're _adults_ here. Sometimes adults get drunk and another adult is _there_ and then mistakes happen." A wave of words leaves him all at once. He wants to mean them. He doesn't. "It means fucking _nothing_. It was a fucking mistake and we can just make it go away if we pretend it never happened like the adults _involved_ in the situation already did! So get off my ass Hamid, this doesn't fucking concern you."

"It doesn't _concern_ me?" Hamid has gone red in the face and a terrifying stillness has overcome his body in stark contrast to the rage in his voice. "You can't decide that Zolf! We're supposed to be a team. Bands have broken over less and I'm not letting you ruin this! Actions have consequences!"

"Hamid, back off!" Sasha tries to mirror Grizzop in the calming gesture, throwing a concerned look back to Zolf who has taken a step forward leaning heavily on his favoured side.

"You don't get to talk to me about consequeneces Al-Tahan." He points his cane at the Halfling's chest. His voice is cold, all emotion and colour has drained from his face. "You know nothing of consequences and I hope for you, and all that you love, you never will."

He hides his shaking hands as he picks up his jacket and limps through the statues of his friends towards the door. He pushes past Wilde. He feels a hand on his shoulder to stop him but he just shrugs it off. He's done with this. Done with this day, this situation.

He hails a cab and punches down the memory of last night's ride in the same direction. This wasn't how anything was supposed to go. Things were supposed to get better now. Instead, he had ruined everything, again, just by giving in to one moment of weakness. See where it got him.

"You'll go far kiddo" Feryn's voice sounds in his ear. "Just follow your heart and take the turns as they come."

Like always, the memory is instantly tinged in the burning smell of engine smoke and a sharp pain in his knee. That's what getting distracted gets you. If you stop following your brain for just one second.

He gasps for breath and counts the seconds as his therapist had taught him to. The cab driver is professional enough not to mention it when Zolf pays him with still shaking hands.

Hamid knows nothing of consequences. He's never taken a life.


End file.
